Iron Horse
by irmaida
Summary: "…she does—truly, really, absolutely—need to go. For the first time in several years, she opens the envelope. Inside is one tiny slip of paper in her mother's handwriting. An address." Winner of Caesar Palace's monthly one-shot challenge for August 2012.


_Iron Horse_

"…she does—truly, really, absolutely—_need_ to go. For the first time in several years, she opens the envelope. Inside is one tiny slip of paper in her mother's handwriting. An address." Written for Caesar Palace's monthly one-shot challenge.

\

"You don't need to go, you know."

That's what Peeta says. That's what Greasy Sae says. It's what they all tell her. They give her all sorts of excuses why she shouldn't go: she's pregnant and shouldn't be traveling. They'll miss her too much. It might be dangerous. And so on. A thousand reasons why she doesn't need to go.

But they're wrong, and she does—truly, really, absolutely—_need_ to go.

For the first time in several years, she opens the envelope. Inside is one tiny slip of paper in her mother's handwriting.

An address.

\

It isn't hard to get a train to District Four, her still being quite renowned after all these years. She's amazed at the number of people who still recognize her. Everyone's friendly and willing to help, and as soon as she arrives in the district, all she has to do is show someone the address, and they'll point her in the direction.

District Four is a district that smells of fish and salt, and it makes her wrinkle her nose a bit, until she sees the ocean. It's nothing like the water in the arena, which reeked of Capitol artificiality, or the lake back home, which was serene and calm. It's wild, but in a naturally beautiful sort of way, and she figures it wouldn't be a bad place to live. But it's terribly unfamiliar, with almost nothing in common with District Twelve. She figures that's the reason why her mother chose it.

She's arrived. It's a rather large house, near the hospital, with a (is she imagining it?) gray, gloomy look. She looks down at the address in her hand, then back at the door, and all at once, she feels a wave of nervousness and fear and even anger. So even after all these years, she is still angry at her mother for what she did, when she and Prim needed her most.

_Prim._

And suddenly, her stomach goes hollow, and she feels as if Peeta and Greasy Sae and everyone else were right. She didn't need to do this. And right now, at the moment, she feels as if she can't do it.

But it's too late now. She knocks.

\

She waits. One second. Two. Five. Finally, the door opens.

"I'm sorry," says the woman who opens the door, who's looking down at a clipboard. "But today's my day off, and you haven't gotten an appointment—"

Looking at the older woman, her mouth goes dry. She can't think of what to say, and she just stands there, stupidly. Finally, a sound escapes.

"Maaa…"

And Dr. Annabel Everdeen, M.D., looks up from her clipboard, into her daughter's face, and she pales. "K-Katniss?"

\

It had taken her years, but she had finally trained herself to forget.

Forget everything.

Every memory. Every face. Everything. Her husband, Mullein. Her daughters, Prim and Katniss. All the people who had died in the Rebellion. She'd trained herself to forget everything and turn her heart to stone so that she would never be hurt again.

Ironic, that she spent her days helping other people heal, when she was so broken herself.

They called her the Iron Horse. She could stomach anything. The Intensive Care Unit. People that were supposed to die. Overprotective parents. Babies born three months before they were due. She drowned herself in her work, trained herself to be the best doctor there was. And the best doctor she became. She became Dr. Annabel Everdeen, M.D., the Iron Horse.

The mask she'd constructed had taken years to create, and she had almost—_almost —_actually forgotten her entire past.

And now, standing in front of her, clear as day, was someone directly from her past.

"K-Katniss?"

And that's when she breaks down and starts crying.

\

Her mother always had been weak. That's her first thought, and she almost walks away. Her mother hasn't changed, after all those years. Still weak. Unable to take care of herself. And others.

But something stops her, because she remembers that for a while, she herself had been exactly like that. Crying at the slightest trigger. She looks again, at her mother. Appearance-wise, her mother hasn't changed much, except her blonde hair is grayer, and there's a certain… hollowness in her blue eyes. And suddenly, she realizes that her mother isn't weak. Not weak at all. Just broken.

And then there's another feeling: shame. She's ashamed that it took her so many years to swallow her anger and go visit her own mother. That it took her this many years to forgive her.

She bites her lip and offers her mother her hand. "Do you need help?"

\

Memories are coming back now, and they're coming fast.

Mullein, the first day they met. He'd been singing, a love song, with a mockingjay on his shoulder.

Their wedding day. It'd been an incredibly small one, as people in the town were still gossiping and looking down upon them, and people in the Seam were betting on how long she would last. But still, it had been the happiest day of her life. Even if her parents hadn't come. Even if her parents had rejected her after that.

Happiest day of her life.

Katniss, when she was born, how Mullein automatically knew that she was a Katniss. Annabel'd had her doubts about the name—it was unusual. But Mullein had insisted. "She's a fighter, that one," he'd said. "Tough. Sturdy. Katniss."

Prim had been different. One look at her wispy blonde hair and dainty hands, and Annabel had known that she was a Primrose.

The memories take a dark turn. And she's standing in front of the scene of a mine accident, coal dust on her shoes. Two little girls are crying in her arms. She has no source of income. She has no family or friends to ask for help. She'd sacrificed everything for this life, because he had made it worth it.

And now he is gone.

For many years, she suffers from depression. Life has no meaning.

But slowly, she learns to recover, with the help of her daughters: Katniss and Prim. Katniss provides for them the external things, food and shelter and clothing. She loves Katniss, for sure. But it is Prim, sweet, gentle _Prim_, who really keeps her living. She's her little ray of sunshine, forever shining.

So she had thought.

Fire. Fire, fire, fire—everywhere.

And just like that, sunshine gone.

Leaving her in complete and total darkness.

Over time, she had learned to cope with living in the darkness, but she had never learned how to get out of it. After a while, she had stopped trying.

And suddenly, there's a hand, reaching out towards her.

"Do you need help?"

\

She takes her mother inside and makes tea. Her mother's stopped crying now and sits there quietly, blinking her eyes. She sits down in the seat across from her mother and pours some tea.

"I can't believe… I can't believe that you're alive and well. Right in front of me. I'd though… I'd thought… everyone was gone…" her mother whispers. "So many years… how many? Ten? Fifteen?"

"Fifteen," she confirms, and she squirms in her seat, feeling ashamed again.

It's silent for a while, then her mother says, "So what brings you here?"

She remembers why she came and attempts at a smile. Gesturing towards her swollen belly, she announces, "I'm pregnant."

"Ah."

No smile. No congratulations. No jumps for joy. This was definitely not the reaction she had expected from her mother.

"She's due in a month," she continues. "I just wanted to visit. To let you know."

It sounds lame, even to her, and she tries to remember why she was so keen on coming over anyways.

"I missed you," her mother says quietly, surprising her.

And then she remembers why. "I missed you, too."

\

It's not perfect, and she's still in the darkness. But she thinks that, for the first time in fifteen years, she's seeing a light. A light to guide her home.

"I'd like you to come back to District Twelve with me," her daughter says.

She agrees.

\

The night they go home together in the train, she awakes in the middle of the night to a scream.

It takes her a while to figure out whose scream it is. It's not her own. It's not Peeta's.

It's her mother's.

She tiptoes over to her mother's compartment and shakes her awake.

"No more," her mother whispers. "No more loss."

Comfort. Comforting has never been her forte, but this is her mother, and she's so _broken_, that she can't help the words from escaping her mouth.

"Don't worry, Mom," she says. "I'm going to fix you."

\

_The lights will guide you home; and ignite your bones; and I will try to fix you. –Coldplay _

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R&R, please?

I do hope that you enjoyed reading it. Feedback would be very nice. It seemed a little rushed to me. Argh. Anyway, written for the Caesar Palace forum's August prompt.


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